FROM THE EMBERS [PK]

[sarahbarah 5021]

Spoiler

 

FROM THE EMBERS

 

Queen Amaya the White Flame

Battle of Hippo’s Gorge c. 518 E.S.

 

 

Amaya did not know how, but she knew it would be today.

 

She had insisted on seeing the flowers. The summer - the Haeseni summer, that is - had just come; the light that filtered in through the hospital window had a rare warmth to it, and lit motes of dust that drifted through the air. The dream-catchers and charms that surrounded the Queen of Haense’s sickbed stirred in a gentle draft, and, somewhere in the hospital, a set of windchimes sang dulcetly. Amaya blinked away the haze of sleep, and stirred beneath her blankets. On a bedside stool, Deia idly worked a set of knitting needles as she sat her vigil. With the scent of medical incense heavy in the air, that soft wind, and the light … 

 

I could just let go, here and now … Amaya thought distantly. Her groggy eyes shifted towards the doors; she could hear snatches of laughter in the sunlit streets of Valdev beyond. Laughter, chatter, and someone was even playing a domra, somewhere. I could let go now … and see the others … 

 

She closed her eyes, and released a shuddering sigh. Amaya had always been a humble woman; from the moment she had been crowned Queen, to when she had raised her glaive in battle to kill a man, she had done so for reasons that were well beyond herself. And yet now, the thought of quietly dying in a hospital room …

 

“Deia,” she muttered as she forced her eyes open, and her handmaiden looked to her with a jump. “I … need you to do something for me.” 

 

“M-Majesty?” Deia breathed, her eyes as wide as ever. “I … yes, of course. Anything.” 

 

“I want …” her body protested as she sat upright in her bed. She ignored it. “ … to see the flowers.” 

 

 

Her sunset passed in a blur.

 

After accepting the well-wishes of a last flock of visitors, they left the city in a small party. Amaya walked slowly with her cane, and though the fur cloak felt heavy on her walk, Deia’s arm looped in hers was all the strength she needed. At her side, the boots of Leonid Kortrevich - the Lord Marshal - crunched in the gravel as he followed their slow pace, his forearm resting on his scabbarded blade. 

 

As they crossed the bridge out of Valdev, the world felt more … colourful than Amaya remembered.

 

The evening sky was a rich orange-gold, marred only by a few stray clouds, and its light flashed brilliantly against the currents of the Dules as it rushed under the bridge. Beyond the bridge, the rolling expanse of the Karoswood were a vivid patchwork of green shades, from the deeper shades of the ancient evergreens, to the bright fresh blooms of ash and beeches. “The flowers,” she murmured, “the flowers must be beautiful today.” Even now, awake and walking, she still felt so … dream-like. Is this what death feels like? Still, though, in an even odder way, it felt like someone was shaking her, trying to wake her from that dream, as she hobbled on.

 

“They will be, Majesty,” Deia assured her. The handmaiden almost sounded frightened. “You’ll see.” 

 

Spoiler

 

 

Sure enough, when they descended from the main road and down into the woods that blanketed the foothills of Morteskvan, wildflowers poked their colourful heads through the woodland foliage in defiant beauty. Amaya could have almost wept at the sight of them; the Haeseni seasons were long and cold, and so a bloom like this was a rare sight indeed. They abandoned the road, after only a gruff protest from Leonid about her condition, and strolled beneath the trees until they found a clearing where the flowers were most abundant. 

 

It was there that Deia laid over their picnic blanket, and Amaya had sat. It was also there that their fourth guest had joined them - Amaya had barely noticed the sound of a horse’s hooves crunching through the foliage until she turned her head, and saw a white-cloaked rider silhouetted by the light. 

 

“What is this, Deia?” Villorik grunted with a customary frown, and a letter gripped in his hand. “Her Majesty is not yet well enough to be out.” 

 

“Villorik!” Amaya chimed. “Come, join us! We were just about to have a picnic!” 

 

The surprise rippled across the warpriest’s face, and then his frown softened. Amaya knew he didn’t have the heart to protest her, but that was just fine - for as long as she could remember, he had always been brooding and dour-faced. A chance to sit down would do him some good. Besides … it’s not like there would be another. 

 

For all the aches of her body, Amaya felt … elated as, mere moments later, she sat with with those three: Deia, a woman who had meant more to her than a mere servant; Leonid, a boy she had raised and had grown to love as a son; and Villorik, who had always watched her as a silent protector, and, while he would never speak the truth of his heart, Amaya knew it all the same. 

 

For a time, they sat in a weighted silence. Amaya knew today would be today -- and they all knew it too. Despite that, she could help but feel so at ease. It’s … so strange. Her eyes trailed to the branches above; she watched as a blue-plumed bird and its hatchlings hop from branch to branch, shedding some loose leaves in their clumsiness. 

 

“Are you afraid?” Villorik asked after a long moment. Judging by the frayed edge of his tone, though, the fear was his own. 

 

“Afraid?” The word was a strange one to Amaya; she could summon countless memories of when she had been afraid, when she had felt her weapon take the life of another soul on the countless battlefields of the Covenant War. Amaya knew what fear was - and she did not feel it now. “No … not anymore. I am sad, is all - sad to leave this world behind.”

 

“I see. That is good, then,” Villorik murmured. Amaya’s misted eyes panned to him, but he, too, was looking up into the trees. “Value comes from contrast, Majesty. Without cold, we would not know the meaning of heat. Without the horrors of the Shadow, there would be no comfort in the Light.” His eyes flit to her, and she was almost taken aback; it was not the usual stoney facade of her brooding friend, but that of the boy she had first met in the fight pits of Karosgrad, so many moons ago. “If you are sad, then it means you lived a happy life. Contrast, you see?” 

 

As the birds sang around them, she looked across the picnic blanket, and gave Deia’s hand a squeeze. “It’s been my greatest blessing,” she said weakly, “to have loved, and been loved. Thank you - all of you.” 

 

 

As the wind gusted, Deia’s hand in hers, the breeze carried the scent of earth, pollen … and something else. 

 

Something evil - she was sure of it. Today was going to be the day, after all. 

 

“You should know that your pyres cast long shadows.” The voice, chilling and dripping with malice, swept the sunlit clearing like a spectre. “Did you think your sins would go unnoticed?”

 

 

It happened so fast.

 

Amaya did not know how long the demons had been watching, but they made no secret of their presence now. They coiled their way out from the shadows of trees, their eyes alight, and their heads mounted with horns. Isn’t this … a dream? She blinked groggily. She could still smell the faint traces of the hospital incense, still feel the warmth of her blankets. Am I … already dead? Vaguely, she felt that same sensation she had on the bridge - like someone was trying to shake her awake. 

 

She was vaguely aware of the demonic voice calling out again, as hellhounds prowled around their feet, and magic hummed in their hands. “ … Accept my blessing, and you shall live; deny it, and you choose suffering …” It was all so distant, though, as if Amaya were underwater. She could only blink absently when the fighting started - when a hellhound rushed at them, and a torrent of malflame assault came thereafter.

 

What a strange … dream … She watched as the hellhound went down to one of the men’s glaive, and the surge of malflame spray off Villorik’s snowy cloak. Why would …? Then, as fast as everything moved, it seemed to inexplicably slow down. One of the horned demons stoked a fireball in their hands, twisted glee in their eyes, before she sent it surging towards Villorik. Oh … she thought distantly. Villorik is going to … 

 

… He’s going to … 

 

… die. 

 

Spoiler

 

 

Her ears seemed to pop. Blood surged to her brain. From whatever death slumber gripped her, Amaya awakened. Her hand shot out with a strength did not know she still had, and yanked Villorik back, just in time for the fireball to sail past him. Despite the demons before them, Villorik could only stare at her in shock.

 

“Your Majesty!” Deia shrieked. “Come, we have to -” 

 

“No,” Amaya protested. Her hand shook as it moved to her waist, and drew her sabre, but she drew it nonetheless. “... I can still fight!” 

 

Villorik’s surprise subsided, and though the smile left on his face looked foreign, it was genuine. Today was going to be the day - she knew it, and they knew it too. With singed streaks on his white cloak, Villorik turned back towards the demons, and advanced with clanking footsteps. 

 

It was Amaya’s turn to watch in shock, then -  never before had she beheld such raw intensity emanating from the stoic Ruthern. His demeanour crackled with an infernal fervour as he hoisted his poleaxe high, bringing it crashing down upon one of the malevolent demons. The clash of steel against otherworldly flesh sent shivers down her spine, leaving her in stunned disbelief.

 

As Amaya gripped her sword, she felt Deia’s arm tug at her. “Your Majesty,” she whispered as the sounds of battle ensued. “Please - we have to …” 

 

A third arm intervened, as Leonid gently lay his gauntlet on Deia. With the evening sun falling sharply on his face, he wore the same smile as Villorik beneath welling eyes. “It’s … okay, Deia,” he said gently. “There could be no better way for her.” 

 

No better way … Amaya’s own eyes misted at that. She had never relished fighting, not after all the years of bloodshed in the war, she had always been able to swing her blade with such conviction - to kill with such conviction - because she knew there was a purpose. She felt that same strength today - the final vestiges of it - but now she knew she fought for her own sake. 

 

Her own soul.

 

Her own glory. 

 

“Deia.” She spoke with a steadiness she didn’t think herself capable of. “I … am ready.”

 

The rest happened in a blur, but not as it had in her slumbering state; no, now the fading Queen fell back to the instincts that she had honed in the battlefields of Middelan. She powered through the soul-stinging chill, sprayed from the mouth of one of the hellhounds, as the demons commanded their beasts to advance … and yet that pain was nothing to Amaya; it was nothing compared to the loss of Veronica, who died saving Amaya in the disastrous Battle of Westmark.

 

She buried her blade into the maw of one of the hellhounds, and pinned it to the ground. When she was sprayed by a torrent of malflame once again - this time by her own brother, whose true form was obscured beneath demonic horns and glowing, empty eyes, that pain was nothing compared to the pain of when she had lost him in the first place. 

 

The clash of metal and cries of pain echoed around Amaya as she moved in that instinctive haze. Her sword bit once, then twice, as she cut down two more of the hellhounds as they rushed at her, and though her sword-arm threatened to give out from the pain of the malflame, that pain was nothing compared the pain of her capture by the forces of Veletz, and left to think that she would die without ever seeing the light at the end of the war.

 

Yes, that’s right … A thought skittered across her mind as the hellhound’s corpse turned to ash at her feet. She was only vaguely aware of her companions, locked in mortal clashes around her. Back then, he saved me … In the blink of an eye, the demon dashes through her periphery, obisidian-coloured tail snaking after her, and her blade lunges towards Leonid. 

 

The demon emitted a shrill sort of screech as Amaya surged forward, her own blade aimed with deadly, practiced precision. It’s almost over now, isn’t it? Just… a little bit more. Amaya expected her blade to bury itself within the recesses of Laelia’s flesh, and yet…

 

…now, she was behind Amaya, driving her blade deep into the Queen's side. It sliced through flesh, and crunched through bone. She felt herself sag to the side, and the air leave her throat in a gasp. Is this it? She felt herself falling, and … No. Her leg shot out to balance her, and she grit her teeth as the pain lanced through her body. Like everything else these creatures might toss their way, the pain was nothing; she had watched friends and family die, killed the friends and families of others, and felt the weight of the world on her shoulders as the Queen of Haense. 

 

“You can’t… get rid of me… that easily!” Summoning the final ounces of strength within her, she swung the pommel of her blade towards the demon’s skull. The blow landed with a satisfying thud, in spite of the searing pain that coursed through her veins.

 

Amaya stumbled back as the stench of ash and blood permeated through the clearing. The cloth of her dress was singed from malflame, the skin beneath twisted grotesquely, and blood ran in a heavy stream down her leg. She was spent; she could feel it. And yet she kept heaving breaths through her tired, aching lungs, and brandished her sword in a trembling grip.

 

The demon that stood before her glared through warped eyes, but Amaya must have looked even worse than she felt, for the demon’s lips twitched into a spiteful grin. Instead of finishing her off, she spared her a moment of respite and turned to Leonid, who stood mere paces away with his own blade brandished. 

 

No … She tried to hobble forward as Laelia advanced on Leonid, but her battered leg refused to move. If I can just … kill her … With a ring of steel, Laelia’s weapon met Leonid’s. The Marshal was weakened, that much Amaya knew, from some accursed spell cast earlier in the fight.

 

Villorik suddenly closed the distance from behind, and buried a jet-black dagger into the demon’s back. Leonid, weak as he was, countered swiftly, and sent Laelia reeling to the ground with a counterstroke. Tears slipped down the ailing Queen’s cheeks, mingling with blood and soot that accumulated upon her flesh.

 

In one swift motion, the demon’s blade that sought to strike Villorik in retaliation, instead found itself embedded within the Queen’s chest as she whisked the Cardinal from the path of peril.

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

In the midst of an open field, where the earth met the sky in a vast expanse of green, Amaya bled.

 

First, she saw herself as a child, dreaming of a destiny beyond the confines of her beginnings. She remembered the sudden departure of her mother, taken by the cruel hands of battle; then, her father's disappearance, setting her adrift in a world that seemed intent on swallowing her whole. Still, her heart, an untamed tempest of ambition, yearned for the crown that now weighs heavy upon her brow. 

 

The air was thick with the scent of crushed grass and the metallic tang of blood. 

 

There was Aleksandr, the boy with steel eyes that never seemed to land on her, and there was Fabian, with his enigmatic smile and prophetic tarot cards, who whispered of a destiny written in the stars - a queen destined to rise from the ashes of her past.

 

“Which is it?”

 

“The, ah,” the thin-faced boy stared at her, soft eyes glinting with mischief – and worry. “The Empress. Your fate is with the Empress.”

 

Blood mingled with the earth.The lilies that cradled her form now bore witness to the crimson tide that paints their ivory petals red.

 

She recalled her upbringing, the early years shaped by loss and longing for something greater than herself. The fondness for strange bugs, the late night hunts in the Queenswood, her penchant for medicine and sword fighting alike - all mere fragments in the grand, beautiful mosaic of her existence. 

 

Her breaths came slowly now, like soft whispers of the wind rippling the grass she laid in. The corners of her vision blurred.

 

“This feeling I speak of, Amaya, it ravages within me. Fate has made it so, I am meant to be King,” spoke Aleksandr.

 

 “My question is simple: Are you meant to be Queen?”

 

There, in the quiet solitude of the hunting lodge, nestled beneath the watchful gaze of towering pines and the gentle murmur of a nearby stream, she pledged herself to him, her heart laid bare as she vowed to bear the weight of the Crown with courage.

 

 

Streams of golden light dappled her bloodied form as she saw her children's faces, their smiles etched into the forefront of her mind. She recalled how Emma wished to reach the stars, her bright smile always unrelenting; how ambitious Ivan had become in his duty, and how he glowered when she pushed vegetables onto his plate; how little Robert always kept himself tucked behind his mother’s skirts.

 

In the distance, she could almost see them - the figures of her ancestors, translucent and ethereal, beckoning her towards a warm light.

 

She had no mother by blood, but a shepherd in Elia. A brother in Carolus, Erik, and Fabian. A light in Villorik, Timofei, and Aleksandr. A friend in Marian, Rosalind, Liridona, Deia, Ioanna, Cedomir, Seraph, Alasdair, Leonid, Andrey, Esfir, Esmeray, Torrugr, Otto, Klara, Henrik, John, Verdier, Konrad, Haus, Walter, Siegmund, Reza, Ilaria, Aveline, Milonir, Viktor, Audo, Veronica, Dimitri, Ramona, Rhys, Rowena, Derek, Andrik, Franziska, Stefan, Catherine, Mikhail, Alfred, Gwenyth, Wilford, Atticus, Irena, Josefina, Poppiya, Ludvika, Vandira, Aurelia, Grelu, Canonius, Emigliana, Scrap, Ofeliya, Adela, Liesbeth, Svetlana, Tatiyana, Sigmar, Katrin, Thondorus, Stanislaw, Xalek, Roslin, Alyona, Manon, Christopher, Makaela, Nataliya, Marjoreya, Amari, Garen, Lorcán, Lottie, Alfie, Edmon, Aster, Iduna, Rozsika, Murtagh, Mahaut, Adelina, Laurissa, Vlad, Enrico, Andrei, Fiona, Ronja, Elaina, Demitrey, Arthur, Tensei, and so many others that she loved. 

 

She found solace in the promise of the Seven Skies, now - a realm where the anguish of her illness would be but a distant memory, where her spirit would soar unencumbered by the constraints of her ailing flesh.

 

“. . The light calls.”

 

And so she rose from the embers of the mortal coil.

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

“About time, Amaya,” uttered a gruff voice.

 

Blearily, the fallen Queen reaches towards an outstretched hand. Her cousin, Carolus, meets eyes with her. She was somewhere far away, now - somewhere warm and light.

 

“You did well,” spoke another voice. This one was much softer. It was Elia’s.

 

The shepherd pauses, taking in the aged features of the Queen. Every scar, crease, and dimple upon her face told a tale of a life well-lived.

 

“I am proud of you, little raven - as are the others.” 

 

The gentle glow that emanated from Elia’s ethereal form unveiled a scene of unparalleled beauty. Before her stood centuries' worth of ancestors, their arms outstretched in eager anticipation of their returning kin.

 

Every figure was bathed in golden light, their fingertips aglow as they beckoned their Queen home, their kindred spirit. And like a chorus of ethereal voices carried on the breeze, she heard it - a collective whisper:

 

“Family through fire.”

 

---

 

Spoiler

I’m honestly not sure where to begin with this little note here, so I’ll start by thanking every single person who has ever interacted with Amaya. I’ve played this character since January of 2023 and I have loved every single moment of building her story alongside the community. When I first created the character, I hardly expected her to be much, let alone a Queen. She was a silly persona who did medical roleplay and liked spiders!

 

To Mio, thank you for allowing me the chance of being Queen of Haense. To Eric, thank you for coming back just to keep up with my silly shenanigans. To Conor and Pollo, thank you for the help writing this post (my brain is absolutely fried). Thank you to Ivery for all the beautiful art you made for Amaya. To those who helped me with running things - all of my court folk, my fellow leadership in government, to everyone in the BSK, this could not have been possible without you all. Know that you are so deeply appreciated.

 

To anyone who ever played in Haense with me, thank you. It truly was amazing to get to bond with the community and create amazing stories with you all for forty weeks. I have never loved a character as much as I have loved Amaya, and I hope you all loved her too. For those who don’t know, I am currently in nursing school so I felt that Amaya’s story could finally come to a close as I start my clinical shifts in the hospital. Nonetheless, I’ll be around if you ever need me.

 

 Thank you all for coming along on the ride.

 

[erictafoya 2309]

 

There had rarely been anything that made the fisherman anxious. Few things ever moved him. Throughout his entire life, he’d defied the orders of King’s, faced mightiest warriors, and fearlessly put himself in danger all for one cause. It was all for. . .

“I wonder. . .”

 

He pondered idly as his rod caught nothing. Strange. . . Did his bait fall off? Even in the skies, where things seem to be endless and bountiful, he still had bad luck when it came to a decent catch. No tuna, salmon, or bass to feast on today.

 

“. . . could it be?”

 

Or maybe it was deeper than even that. He was, after all, one of the most skilled fishermen in most of Aevos, and certainly within Haense. It was here that the hailed King Fisher noticed that - for the first time in a long time, his hands were shaking. Nothing else had made him react that way. . . No one else but. . .

“. . . - . . . “

A figure sat next to him. He looked on to the horizon with wide eyes, and tears flowing from his eyes. He did not cry out - or rejoice. Just silent tears as his head slowly turned to see who it was.

 

“ A-ams . .”

“Hello Timmy”

The warmest smile was given by his most beloved and cherished friend.

And finally, after all this time. . .

Something tugged on his string

 

 

---

 

 

. . . Meanwhile. . .

 

A dreaded sense of coldness could be felt within the Brotherhood’s barracks. Morale was low. Their beloved Queen had died. Many men were enraged, but none more so than the man who was charged with his godmother’s protection. . . His Queen’s protection.

 

There was little choice he had. After all, he was an example to his men. Even in suffering he had to stay level headed - there was no other way. A Marshal must always do his duty.

 

But a feeling within himself gnawed at him. There was more than just family and blood that he lost that day, but even some of his sanity. His very being was shook.

One word had captivated his mind. An obsession that he craved for, and he was starving.
That feeling of starvation lasted hours every day. . . Days turned into weeks. . . Weeks felt like months. . . and that feeling would drive him for years.

There would be another day when he would meet the demonic plague that took the life of a saintly figure. More scars would be had, and he may not live to see those scars heal. There is something he sought to guarantee. No matter what it costs his personal being. . .

“They will feel my vengeance”

[Mady 3037]

 

The following days spent within Castle Morteskvan would prove to the young Ruthern heiress once more that to love and to be loved needn’t be what the young girl sought in life. From her dead mother to the now stricken down Queen, the proof that adoration and comfort were luxuries more easily taken than one might think. The days of weeping over friends were long lost, the cruelty of the world and life itself seeming too prevalent at this stage that a young girl might simply fall into the tempting ideology of abandoning all hope for a life of love and happiness. 

 

Yet, Tatiyana knew that should she fall into a hopeless reality, any purpose or light within her would dissipate into cruel nothingness. So as the girl wandered the Ducal residency her family held within the snow capped mountains of the kingdom, she made note to plant roses wherever they might take root. 

 

“For Amaya. . .”

[xo31 459]

Arthur viewed the entire ordeal from afar, standing atop buildings in Haense as the scarves on his disguise flapped in the wind, and eventually from afar in the woods, tears streaming down his face beneath his mask.
 

He found his way to the disheveled Veletz church, taking a seat, and looking up, and taking up his old religion once more. . .

“May the Skies treat you well, Your Majesty. I believe you may have been the only pure person in this world.”

Tensei watched from somewhere as his old friend ascended.

“You did it… I am as proud of you as a man of metal can be.”

[Cheese 2307]

“What’s going on?” A confused Esfir whispered in confusion, glancing about the crowd who had gathered. 

 

A solemn Ioanna Kortrevich answered the girl. She broke the news that would destroy the tiny Amador’s world. “Your grandmother…- your..- your hauchmamej… She has gone to the Seven Skies.”

 

“HAUCHMAMEJ!”

 

Esfir did not remember much after that. She remembered running. She remembered crying. She remembered kneeling in the dirt as she wailed; begging, praying that her dear grandmother would somehow rise again from the flowers, as she had always done. She had always risen. The Amador girl had been told what death meant. She knew what it meant for her great-aunt Liridona and aunt Poppiya to return to Godan’s embrace… but how could Hauchmamej? How could she leave without a chance to say goodbye, without one last hug?

For the rest of that night, all Esfir could do was cry in the arms of her family, praying that maybe her grandmother, the great Amaya of Venzia, was holding her too.

[ncarr 2235]

In private, away from the prying eyes of court, the Grand Lady allowed a single tear to slide through the peaks and valleys of her gaunt countenance. She would miss Amaya, though she would tell no one. 

[marslol 672]

From the faraway north of the forest, within a cabin, a lone Dosiya plucks the petals off a rose - one by one, they flit down by her feet. Upon reaching the last one, clung so desperately to it's stem, the woman only offers it the smallest bit of retrieve before too, plucking it away.

 

Mercy, as it always has been.

[Greehn 1850]

"It's a terrible day for rain."

 

Volk muttered to himself as he brought his hands together in prayer for the Queen of Haense.

 

"The others shall take it from here. Rest easy, and watch us from above."

 

 

[ElvenHuntress 207]

When Dimitri heard of the death of Amaya he fell to his knees, the missive in hand, the cane used to support him clattering to the wooden floor of his office. After the great success of the Haense carnival he had carried her to her bed in the clinic, made her comfortable, kissed her on the forehead before departing as she had wished him to do.

He owed his very life to her, the life he has built, the kids he has fathered are all because she came to save his life when others would have left him to die. Amaya had been there for him in every meaningful moment of his life, from the death of his mother, to his wedding. He so desperately wanted to show his children to her but never got the chance, and now never will…

For once, Dimitri was at a loss for words as his tears began to fall onto the missive he stared at, deeply hoping the words were not true. This is a loss that will stay with him, but he knows she is at rest now, and that his mother will welcome her into the seven skies.

Edited March 19 by ElvenHuntress

[esotericas 1555]

A worn, tired sailor found the missive on the desk of his captain's quarters. He read it in silence, unreceptive to the calls from his crew, or the whipping of the wind beyond the wooden walls of his ship. 

 

The ink bled beneath spotted saltwater tears as Alasdair wept silently for the death of his friend. There were no words for this moment, nor was there anyone to say them to. 

[Pancho 2527]

Aldric Ludovar, a talented duelist, mourned for the Queen. She had done so much with her life. It was truly the end of another chapter.

[Werew0lf 12022]

 

 

Silent in observation, the angel stared beneath his scraggly gray robes. At the hour of death, he mulled.

 

“. . .”

 

A rageful ball of fire seared across the sky, and descended upon the earth with fury. Raguel hunted for the demonspawn. This would be his justice. 

[HogoBojo 3972]

Spoiler

7 minutes ago, Greehn said:

"It's a terrible day for rain."

@sarahbarah You did an exceptional job as Queen. o7

 

[psychra_notte 115]

Off in a small town, outside of the grand city of Valdev, a blonde man mourned the death of a dear friend to him. Edmond had retired, sooner than he would have liked to take care of his mother in her final days. It wasn't long till he heard the news of Queen Amaya's death. Many in his small town gathered to mourn the Queen of the People, The White Flame, Queen Amaya. In the square of the town, they placed flowers at the base of a small wooden sculpture, carefully carved by the retired Butler in his free time. He only quietly said "Y pray the Seven Skies treat vy well, dear Friend".

In a seperate space, within Valdev a much younger man sat. Aster Amador had not been as close to his cousin, Amaya, as much as he would have liked. She was dear to him, family who he had cared for like any other. When they worked on the Treatise of Northern Medicine, it had been a wonderful experience for him. He had learned much about the connection of the stars to ones Humors, and was happy to work with Amaya. There was a hint of guilt he did not write to her more, did not see her more, a guilt he had felt with many of his family who had recently passed. When he could, Aster visited the spot they had first found Amaya, looking across the flowers that dotted the ground. He placed a white rose where she had once laid.

[Frawlic 266]

Amari had become accustomed to broken promises. This was one she wished hadn't been. Fingers curled around a book of Frostweavers given to her by the recently passed had been the only thing keeping the girl from breaking down similarly to its worn leather bindings. Amari would not break her promise, not the one she had granted Amaya just the day before. "Ea will behave.... ea will keep Deia safe... ea promise, Dutiful Jewel."

Meanwhile, within the confines of her home wept a bard. Another one lost.